Folds, crevices,
each carries a particle of sun-scorched reality,
greed... has crucified... bled dry,
resigned sighs from trembling lips.
Relentlessly, morning's orb
hides anonymously behind
a mantle of...
exotic shame.
Look attentively toward the morrow,
whence hopefully, comes expiation from...
man's grasping hands,
fingers trailing, loosening... poverty's chains.
Eyes close, tears flow the lash,
follow each crevice toward,
the chin lowered humbly,
in recognition of... resignation.
One foot in front of another
drawing no comfort from salty tears,
knowing each step is one less,
toward a tommorow that... belies belief.
Limbs ache from grief
not such as death brings,
with its permanent sting,
but in the knowledge of... futile hope
The heart still beats,
the mind searches out the kidneys,
blood still flows in shallow veins,
where will it all... end?
Where the passionate stand firm,
solace could still abide
as numerous grains build a mountain,
on which to build hope of... a new tomorrow
Lift your head up,
allow the folds to fall where they will
not all desert roses have thorns,
some cast a shadow... where comfort and safety lie therein
Adding your comment:
, this is just exquisite and looks deep into the picture and behind the face of this young woman and see's Africa with some hope and some reservations, which I think she would have. It is a fine entry and thank you for entering it. 
